Confessions of A Gryffindor Chaser
by Unauthorized Cuddler
Summary: A series of journal entries by Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Chaser, about things going on at Hogwarts and her personal life. A fifth year fic.
1. January 5th, ridiculously late, in bed

January 5th

Bloody lousy Christmas present _this_ is. A journal. Can't you just see me jumping for joy? No? Must be a figment of my imagination. Ah well, my mother thinks that every young girl needs "an outlet for her teenage frustrations" and so she very kindly provided one in the guise of a Christmas present.

I guess I should start off by telling you about me. Well, first off, quidditch is my life. I eat, sleep and breath quidditch, and if I slack off for one moment, Angelina's all over me. It isn't as if I don't love it, the thrill of being up in the air on my broom, the wind blowing in my hair and robes, but sometimes I wish that I had a life beyond the sport. I mean, when people see me in the halls, they'll say "Oh, there goes Katie Bell, she's the Gryffindor chaser!" And that's great, I mean, I like being recognised, but couldn't it be for something else? Like "Oh, there goes Katie Bell, the one who aced all her O.W.L.S.!" Or "she's dating Fred Weasly!" Wait, I did not just write that...darn. Yes I did.

Okay, so I've fancied Fred Weasly for a few years, what's it to you? I mean, I stopped liking Oliver a long time ago, and he DID leave Hogwarts, so it's understandable that I'd like someone else. Anyway, it's not as if Fred ever thinks about me outside of the quidditch pitch. I'm just one of his mates, not a girl, just a mate. Wait...that didn't sound right, did it? Well I wouldn't _mind_ being his mate exactly...wait...that didn't sound right either. I'm hopeless. I'm going to bed.

Fiddlesticks. Can't get to sleep, Angelina's snoring again. I love the girl to death, but she should really provide us all with earplugs or something. Ah well, at least I've got something to do other than like awake trying to ignore her snores. Maybe this wasn't such a barmy present after all.

Oh, I never finished that thing about me. Whoops. Oh well, it can wait for tomorrow. Angelina's stopped snoring so I might as well take advantage of the silence. G'night.


	2. January 8th , afternoon, History of Magi...

January 8th , afternoon, History of Magic

I really don't like this class, but I decided to take it because it's an easy N.E.W.T. Great motivation, isn't it? Oh well, all I have to do is charm my pen to take the notes for me, and I'm good.

Alright...now for the personality profile I delayed yesterday. My name is Katie Bell, I'm a seventh year, and...oh, fudge. Forget it, this is stupid. The only person who is going to see this is me, and I already know everything about me. Isn't that reassuring? I thought so.

These first few days after Christmas vacation have been awful. Coming back to school after not having classes for two weeks is REALLY hard. And what makes it worse is that everything is harder now. It seems like the teachers have finally realized that this is N.E.W.T year, and now they have to buckle down in order to have us learn everything we have to. Sure, that isn't such a hard thing for them, but I have so much homework, I'm going to be up all night, like Harry Potter. I swear, that kid has more homework than I do. It seems like he stays up all night doing homework. At least I think he's doing homework. That Hermione girl stays up with him sometimes so you nev...

Whoops. Binns floated over while I was writing that sentence, and I didn't like where it was going, so I stopped writing it. Man, I got off topic. Where was I? Oh yeah, homework. Ah, who wants to talk about homework. Not me. So let's pick a different one, shall we?

Oooh! Just thought of one! Harry said that D.A. would meet tonight, and that'll give me something to look forward to. Fred will be there...maybe I can be his partner! No, he doesn't like me that way. I shouldn't get my hopes up. He'll probably partner with Angelina. Boy, I seem to be obsessed with her, don't I? It's just that she dictates such a big part of my life, and I hardly ever go anywhere where I don't see her. Not that that's a bad thing, but I like my privacy, that is, when I'm alone. I don't like privacy when other people are around. Wait, that didn't make sense. I should probably stop writing. I'm blabbering. I'm out.


	3. January 10th, morning, commons room

January 10th, morning, before breakfast

I was so tired yesterday that I almost slept through breakfast. D.A. went a lot longer than we had expected, and then I had piles of homework, and...well, you get the picture. And to top it all off, Fred wasn't even there the night before last. Neither was George. But I'm feeling better today.

Quidditch practice tonight. And I would look forward to it, except that ever since Umbridge banned all of our best players from the field, (namely Fred, George and Harry) we've been the worst of all four teams. Ron has some talent, and he shows it occasionally during practice, but during the actual games, he's scared senseless. Those Slytherins really get him nervous. And the new beaters are nowhere near as good as Fred and George. But Ginny's actually fairly decent at Seeker. We haven't lost quite as badly since she's been on the team.

There I go again, talking about Quidditch. But I love it, so it doesn't matter, does it? Of course not.

(later, Arithmancy) Never mind what I said about feeling better. If I have to listen to my Arithmancy Professor's soporific voice any longer, I'll fall asleep. And if I fall asleep, then I'll drool. And that would be embarrassing, so I'm writing this to keep myself awake. I don't think it's working. Maybe I'll just put my head down...

(later, detention) That was extremely stupid of me. Falling asleep in class? How could I have let myself? And now I've got detention. At least the professor isn't making me do menial labour. Just making me sit here and think about how wrong it is to fall asleep in class, while he takes a quick nap in his armchair. How ironic. I think I'll do some homework.

(later, still detention) The professor still hasn't woken up. And it's past curfew. I'm going back to the commons room. G'night.


	4. January 11th, morning, Arithmancy

Disclaimer: I'd just like to say that I've really enjoyed borrowing Rowling's characters, and that they're a lot of fun to play with. Oh yeah, and they're not mine.

A/N: Now for some clarifications. This story takes place during Harry's fifth year, not Katie's. As far as I've been able to deduce, Katie is in her sixth or seventh year when Harry is in his fifth, and for the purposes of this story, it is her seventh. Katie likes Fred, but I have not decided yet whether Fred likes her back. And for those of you who do not like this pairing, poo on you. I like it. I like Katie/Oliver, Katie/Lee and Fred/Angelina, but Katie/Fred is my favorite. So deal with it. Ah, and to my very favorite reviewer, Out of Towner, Katie does not hate this journal. She just thought it was a stupid gift at first.

I know this may have sounded a bit complain-y-ish, and I'm totally sorry if it did, but it seemed like a lot of people had problems with what I was writing. I just wanted to clarify a few things. If you don't like what I write, tell me so, but please do it nicely. Thanks a lot.

Katie-chan

* * *

January 11th, Arithmancy, morning.. 

Well, Arithmancy Professor didn't remember that I had walked out on my detention prematurely, so I didn't get in trouble. Thank God for little miracles.

Later, Divination, still morning.

Mertle is so odd. Honestly, I had to go to the toilet, and she started talking my ear off. Finally, I just yelled at her to shut her fat, dead mouth. I don't think she took that too well, since she's been popping up and wailing at me during my classes. Don't ever make a ghost angry, they'll see to it that you wish you were as dead as they are. Stupid haunts and their obsessions. She's been yelling my head off about some stupid book. I'm so busy with Quidditch and DA, not to mention my schoolwork, I don't have time to look for some stupid bloody journal. Stupid bloody ghosts.

Later, Herbology, afternoon.

I feel pretty bad now. I mean, I just yelled at a dead girl – and it's not as if she doesn't have anything else to feel bad about, after all, she is dead. That's a pretty big problem in and of itself. I can't keep beating myself up about it though. I did what I had to do…right?

Later, Dinner.

Stupid conscience. It won't shut up. Fine. I'll find that stupid diary. But did she have to hide it in the restricted section of the library?

Later, Commons Room.

That certainly turned out a LOT different than I had anticipated. Then again, I don't really know what I had anticipated. Probably something a little less…oh, I don't know.

Anyway, after lunch I ventured into the library. I stayed well out of Madame Pince's gaze, and quickly ducked over to the restricted section. But lo and behold, who should be standing there but Fred and George. It was all I could do not to drop my Arithmancy textbook on my foot. The surprised look on my face must have registered though, because George laughed and said "Oh, Katie, I know we're stunningly handsome and all, but you don't have to look _that_ stunned."

"I'm not – I just didn't expect to see you here." Great response, Katie. Very witty.

Fred stepped in. "Now, now, George, don't tease the lady. Can we assist you in any way, m'dear?" He bowed with a sarcastic flourish.

"Ummm…" I could have sworn I would melt right there. But I didn't. I held my ground – and my textbook – tightly. "Actually, my dear boys, you might be able to. I need to find a journal." I then told them the entire story, minus the part where I told Mertle to shut her fat, dead mouth. That's a bit embarrassing, not to mention out of character for me. Then again, they might have found it funny. You never know with boys.

In any case, they were intrigued. Eventually, after much ducking and hiding, we retrieved the journal. Just our luck it was right next to some biting book. I'll have bandaged hands for days. I thanked the boys profusely, (especially Fred) and came back up here. It's sitting right next to me. I probably shouldn't read it. I know I shouldn't read it. But then again, how will Mertle know if I do? It couldn't hurt, could it?


	5. January 12th, Early morning, Commons roo...

January 12th, Early morning, Commons room

I never should have read that book. Ever. It turns out that it wasn't Mertle's journal at all – it wasn't even a journal. I guess they shelved it next to the biting book for a reason. I am now in possession of knowledge I should never have come across. I know I shouldn't use it. But it's like it wants to get out, wants to be used. And the only place I can talk about it is here. So here's my story as best I can tell it.

After I put this journal down last night, I sat and stared at the book. Its cover is blue, with curly gold designs on the cover. I guess that should have tipped me off that maybe it wasn't a journal, and maybe it did, but I opened the cover just the same. It was as if some inexplicable force wanted me to read it. From the first page, I was drawn in by tales of dark witches and wizards and the black curses they employed to carry out their evil deeds.

As I read the curses, I could almost hear the evil words being spoken, and against my will they were committed to my memory. The hair on my arms stood up as I read further, the crimes and curses becoming more and more shocking. Finally, at about three a.m., I finished reading the slim volume, the heinous murders still playing out in my mind. I reached a hand up to my face to brush my hair out of my eyes, and realized that my face was wet with shed tears. I ran up to the dormitory and shoved the book under my mattress.

I've tried to fall asleep since then, but the pictures play across my mind and I hear those awful words every time I close my eyes. I've finally given up on getting any sleep, so I'm sitting here in the commons room, wrapped in Angelina's extra blanket, trying to purge my mind of those images. But it's not working. Will I be haunted by these images forever? Will this unnamed voice that is calling out for me to use these words ever cease? And another question is running through my voice as well. Did Mertle want me to find this book? If so, then I guess it's true what they say – the dead do get revenge, and they get it good.

I hope...I don't know. I hope I'm still me by the time morning comes.


End file.
